


Rut

by doctorsaxon



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Drug-Induced Sex, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorsaxon/pseuds/doctorsaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Will Graham is a man who regularly succumbs to his darkest nightmares. [Cellar Door Collection]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rut

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic in the Cellar Door collection. As usual, really fucked up in a lot of ways.

You remember waking up every morning, if it even was morning, with the sensation of dried fluid on your skin.

 

Naturally, it was at least mostly blood, and quite a bit was yours.  However a thick covering of another investigator’s blood was drying uncomfortably on your back and in your hair.  You had mostly wiped your face when Hannibal decided to pour the bucket down from the gentle curve of your lower back.  But it felt almost like a shell at this point, a second skin that was slowly integrating into yours.  It was symbolic of how merciful he was, how kind to keep you alive.  A mockery, in a way.  And a sting -- if you had won, this wouldn’t have happened.  And now they’re replacing you.

 

The blood had an almost tangible weight on your skin and your conscience.

 

The cellar door swung open with nary a whisper, and every muscle in your body clenched painfully in fear.

 

You think he’s in a good mood.  He’s humming along with the usual ambient classical music that lulls through the door of your prison.  His pace isn’t quite as sulking as it usually is, and there’s a slight smile at his lips.  Your heart sinks.  The feeling of bile at the back of your throat rises again, and you barely manage to swallow it back.

 

“Good afternoon, Will,” he greets cheerily.  Afternoon?  So it wasn’t morning any more, then, like you suspected.  And…  why is he home?  Is it his day off?  Does he have a day off?  You hadn’t noticed, or maybe you hadn’t cared.

 

“I have good news for you, I think you’ll be pleased.”

 

You know you won’t be, you brace yourself for him describing what sick torture he’d do to you today.

 

“I noticed the state of your body.  I imagine you’re in pain, yes?”

 

You don’t answer.  It’s a trap, you can’t answer.  If you say no, he’ll make sure you’re in pain.  If you say yes, he’ll exploit that pain.  You stare at him wordlessly, shaking a bit.  He stares, expectantly, for five full seconds before he kneels and grabs your chin.  You close your eyes and try to will him away, try to go fishing.  Try to be anywhere but here.

 

“It’s okay, I’ll help you with the pain --”

 

And then, you manage to.  Your mind slips out completely and you’re not awkwardly positioned in that rank cellar, no.  You’re laying in a field.  You sit up and look around, recognizing it as one of the clearings near your house.  The trees are sparse, light filtering down and glistening against your eyelids.  Oh, how you’ve missed the light.  You soak it in a moment, revel in the warmth.  Of course none of it’s real, you know that.  But you don’t care.  Your artificial light is better than anything you’ve had in a long, long time.

 

You settle back in the grass, lacing your fingers together and resting your head back on them.  Nothing can get you here, you think.  Your dream within a nightmare couldn’t possibly hurt you.

 

You think of Alana and the twist in your gut.  Bleeding out in the chilly Baltimore snow, drowning in it.  You thought of the way her face contorted as Hannibal dragged her inside, as he tied you up.  You don’t think of the way her screams ripped through your very soul as Hannibal set her aflame.

 

Your position in the grass shifts and you frown a bit, unable to settle now.  Damn.  You sit back up on your elbows and shake the last scattered thoughts from your head when you hear a gentle snapping somewhere off to the right.  You turn sluggishly, at ease in the warmth of the sun.  A vaguely…  deer-like…  shape shifted through the trees, and you felt your heart still.  Not here, not here, not here…

 

A white-tailed doe stepped demurely from her position in the trees.  You let out a breath and laugh softly at your own foolishness.  No, of course this place was still sacred.  You watch her a moment, the way she moves, and before your very eyes she shifts into a much softer form.  A wasp-like waist with round hips, lightly downy with a white, flickering tail over her full ass.  She wasn’t particularly busty, and had a very angular face, somewhere between that of the doe and that of a woman.  A faun.  You recognized the shape from things you’ve used on cases.  Deer fairies.

 

You sit up fully now, watching her with intrigue.  She still moves like a deer, knees lifting high and footsteps near silent.  And she’s watching you, too.  She stops her pacing only a few steps from you, her chest rising and falling in nervousness.  You’re taken by how very…  attractive she is.  She was curvy and small, and her lips were soft and you could only imagine what she had between those long legs of hers.

 

You were fine with it being that kind of dream.

 

“Hello,” you offer, and she tilts her head.  You reach out, and she takes another step…

 

Another snap almost goes unheeded by you, but your faun friend snaps up, staring intently into the distance before springing off in the opposite direction. And when you look, you almost can’t comprehend.

 

Your nightmare stag, standing there in all his glory.  Hes much more massive this close, a powerhouse of muscle.  You try to back away, heart skittering in your chest, but he’s right there with you.  He stomps on your ankle and you scream, arching your back at the sensation.  You continue to try to drag yourself away, through tears now, only to have him hook a massive antler under your ribs and flip you painfully onto your front.  And you feel strong teeth at your pants and…  no.  No, no, no, please god…

 

You’re begging out loud now, begging any god that will listen to stop this twisted nightmare.  You’re forced up onto your knees by those sharp antlers and powerful hooves, face smashed into the ground in a position all too like your forced arrangement in that hellhole back in the real world.  You feel a massive weight shifting over you, and it’s all you can do to glance back and nearly faint with the amount your head swims.  You know that stags nearly have thin, pointed penises, but this one has more a horse’s cock.  It’s thick and almost impossibly long, easily fourteen inches but maybe even more.  It’s ringed and, like the beast, impossibly black.  You didn’t have a long time to take in much more before a heavy amount of cum fell over your hole, just one short spurt.  It felt almost impossibly hot on your ass, and the feeling warmed you to your very core.  Perhaps that’s why it didn’t kill you when that enormous cock shoved into your body.

 

Your mouth opens in a silent scream at being so suddenly full.  You choke on air, tears springing to your eyes immediately.  It’s too much, it’s too much, you can feel the heavy cock settled into your bowels, could feel what was now a definite ring from the flare at the head settled in your guts.

 

You felt sick to your stomach as the beast started to buck, with no amount of patience or finesse.  You could feel that monster cock dragging inside you with every pump of his hips, only to split you in half again.  You were dizzy.  The beast’s cum inside of you was heating your insides, pumping something into your brain.  Did your nightmare stag really have a cum to make you like it?  Aphrodisiacs and pheromones?  You couldn’t think of anything else, finding yourself shamefully beginning to moan at the intrusion.  Hooves scarred the dirt around your head, you could feel the hot breath of the stag against your ear.  It bellowed once as it came, pints and pints of hot, aphrodisiac cum filling your body.  You felt so full, you could even feel a slight swelling in your belly from the sheer amount of cum inside it.  But it wasn’t enough.

 

The stag withdrew with a loud smacking noise and you just whimpered quietly where you lay.  Your cock was straining against your belly beneath you, hard from pressure and stimulation but not quite having released yet.  The stag circles a few times, his still-stiff prick swinging heavily between its legs.  You remain as you are, presenting yourself for a second round despite feeling like throwing up.  The stag pauses, hesitates, and you feel a warm hand gliding over the curve of your ass.  Hand…?  You crane around as best you can to see Hannibal in your field, and you feel awash with relief.  He grins at you and smacks the flesh once, the pain rippling through your body and shifting the weight in your stomach.  You gasp helplessly, shivering.

 

“You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself,” he croons.  His voice rings out silky and smooth, like chocolate, and cuts the near silence of your forest like a hot knife.  You can only paint softly, too lost for words.  You get another smack, and can only gasp out in response.

 

“Yes, sir.”  You don’t know where that title came from, but it certainly seems to encourage your captor.  He rubs your abused cheek softly for only a moment before his fingers trace over your red, abused hole.

 

“You seem to have quite a problem though, Will.”  He motions towards your dripping erection, and you try to hide your face in shame.  “Was that not enough to satisfy you?  Are you really that greedy for my cock that nothing else will do?”

 

Yes.

 

You shake your head violently, even as you feel that hand coming down again, this time on your other cheek.

 

“Lucky for you, I don’t care if you want my cock or not.”

 

You wanted to ask how that was lucky, how that was in any way lucky, when you feel him inside you.  Your eyes open wide, but not in pain.  Your body is far too open for the intrusion to be anything painful.  He slides in easily and fucks you just as brutally as the stag did, reveling in your whimpers and cries and moans.  And then the stag is over you again, this time with his heavy cock bumping down on your back, sliding up into your hair as he bucked towards you.  Heavy balls hit you in the face with every push, and you bowed your head to try to avoid them.  You tried to focus on Hannibal fucking you like you were his doe.

 

You only cum when his hand is on you, not even stroking, just cupping over your cock.  You whimper and cry out, your semen sliding between his fingers as he tries to cup as much as he can.  Around the same time, you can feel him adding to the load in your belly.  The stag over you is still thrusting towards your body, and you barely have time to register Hannibal’s hand cupping over your mouth, his fingers pinching your nose shut as you’re forced to swallow your collected semen or drown in it.  And he gives you more, not just yours this time.  Had he been collecting from the stag as it thrust against you?  He pulls out just in time to direct the stag’s cock towards your face, dousing you completely in hot, musky cum.

 

You’re panting, shaking and covered in fluid.  You’re certain you’re bleeding, and you feel (pleasantly?) full.  Your hips are lifted higher by Hannibal’s demanding hands, shifting the weight of the load inside of you.

 

You look behind you blearily to see Hannibal closing up a small bag he had brought with him, to see the last of the filtering sunlight glint off the sharp needles inside before it was blotted out by the dank cellar wall.

 

You passed out.

 

 


End file.
